When the phone rang, I groped for it on the nightstand. It was the hospital. And it was also 3:57 in the morning. I brushed the hair off my forehead and sat up. โHello?โ
โKristen.โ
It was Josh. But it wasnโt. It wasnโt any Josh Iโd ever heard. โKristen, you need to go get Sloan. Brandonโs had a stroke.โ
I threw off my covers. โWhat? A stroke? What does that mean?โ
I tumbled out of bed and stumbled around the room, grabbing my bra and jumping into leggings.
He paused. โHeโs brain-dead. Heโs not coming back from this. Itโs over.
Get Sloan.โ
The line went dead.
I stood in the middle of my dark room. The phone stayed lit for a moment. When the screen went back to black, I was doused in pitch.
The velociraptor roared, and the ground shook as it lunged forward.
As I drove to Sloanโs, I had the surreal, almost out-of-body realization that I was about to tell my best friend the worst news of her life. That the moment she answered that door, I was going to break her heart and she would never be the same.
My altered state allowed me to process this in a compartmentalized way. I knew that I wouldnโt feel the painful moment when it happened, but that Iโd put it into a little box and take it out and look at it often for the rest of
my life.
* * *
I watched Sloan die inside that night.
They called it a catastrophic stroke. A blood clot moved from the wounds in his leg up to his brain. It had probably happened while Josh sat with him. It was silent and final, and there was nothing anyone could have done.
Josh was right. Brandon was gone.
Three days after the stroke, an ethics committee made up of Brandonโs doctors, an organization that coordinated organ donations, and a grief counselor called the family in for an 11:00 a.m. meeting at the hospital. I sat outside the conference room, bouncing my knee, waiting for Sloan to come out.
I hadnโt left her side once since the stroke. Every night I slept in the chair next to her by Brandonโs bedside. Only now he wasnโt healing in his coma.
He was brain-dead.
Josh hadnโt been back to the hospital since Brandonโs diagnosis. He wouldnโt answer my calls.
The shift was strange. Our text thread went from dozens of unanswered texts from him, begging me to talk to him, to dozens of unanswered texts from me, begging him to talk to me. I wanted to know he was okay.
His silence told me he wasnโt.
I wore his sweatshirt today. Iโd never wear it when I knew he might see it. I didnโt want to encourage him. But based on his absence over the last three days, I didnโt think I had to worry. And I needed to feel him wrapped around my body today. I needed to smell him in the fabric.
I just neededย him.
This meeting wasnโt going to be easy on Sloan. It was about the next steps.
The door to the conference room opened up, and Brandonโs mom came out, speaking to his dad in tearful Spanish.
Sloan walked out of the meeting behind them, and I led her immediately into an empty waiting room.
Sloan was a zombie. Sheโd died three days ago when Brandon did. The light was gone from her eyes. Her legs walked, her eyelids blinked, but she was vacant.
โWhat did they say?โ I asked, sitting her down on one of the cushioned chairs next to me.
She spoke wearily, her eyes rimmed a permanent shade of red. โThey say we need to take him off of life support. That his body is deteriorating.โ
The wail of Brandonโs mom came down the hallway. It had become a sound we knew all too well. She broke down at random. Everyone did. Well, everyone except for me. I was void of emotion while my predator and I shared space. Instead of feeling pain at Sloanโs suffering, I spiraled further into my OCD. I slept less. I moved more. I dove deeper into my rituals.
And nothing helped.
Sloan didnโt react to the sound of grief down the hall. โHis brain isnโt making hormones anymore or controlling any of his bodily functions. The medications heโs on to maintain his blood pressure and body temperature are damaging his organs. They said if we want to donate them, we have to do it soon.โ
โOkay,โ I said, pulling tissues from a box and shoving them into her hands. โWhen are they doing it?โ
She spoke to the room, to someplace behind me. She didnโt look at me. โTheyโre not.โ
I stared at her. โWhat do you mean theyโre not?โ
She blinked, her eyelids closing mechanically. โHis parents donโt want to take him off life support. Theyโre praying for a miracle. Theyโre really religious. They think he rebounded once and heโll rebound again.โ
Her eyes focused on me, tears welled, threatening to fall. โItโs going to all be for nothing, Kristen. Heโs an organ donor. Heโd want that. Heโs going to rot in that room and heโs going to die for nothing and I have no say in any of it.โ
The tears spilled down her face, but she didnโt sob. They just streamed, like water from a leaky hose.
I gaped at her. โButโฆbutย why? Didnโt he have a will? What the fuck?โ
She shook her head. โWe talked about it, but the wedding was so close we just decided to wait. I have no say. At all.โ
The reality suddenly rolled out before me. It wouldnโt just be this. It
would be everything. His life insurance policy, his benefits, his portion of the house, his belongingsโnot hers. She would get nothing.
Not even a vote.
She went on in her daze. โI donโt know how to convince them. The insurance wonโt cover his stay much longer, so theyโll be forced to make a decision at some point. But it will cover it long enough for his organs to fail.โ
My brain grasped at a solution. โClaudia. She might be able to convince them.โ
She hadnโt been able to make the meeting. And she would side with SloanโI knew she would. She had influence on her parents.
โMaybe Josh too,โ I continued. โThey like him. They might listen to him.โ I stood.
She looked up at me, a tear dripping off her chin and landing on her thigh. โWhere are you going?โ
โTo find Josh.โ
* * *
I went to the station first, but Josh wasnโt there. I found him at home.
He opened the door after letting me pound on it for almost five minutes.
His truck was in the carport. I knew he was here.
He pulled the door open and walked back inside without looking at me or saying a word. I followed him in, and he dropped onto a sofa Iโd never seen before.
His face was scruffy. Iโd never seen him anything but clean-shaven. Not even in pictures. He had bags under his eyes. Heโd aged ten years in three days.
The apartment was a mess. The boxes were gone. It looked like he had finally unpacked. But laundry was piled up in a basket so full it spilled out onto the floor. Empty food containers littered the kitchen countertops. The coffee table was full of empty beer bottles. His bed was unmade. The place smelled stagnant and dank.
A vicious urge to take care of him took hold. The velociraptor tapped its talon on the floor. Josh wasnโt okay.
Nobody was okay.
And that was what madeย meย not okay. โHey,โ I said, standing in front of him.
He didnโt look at me. โOh, so youโre talking to me now,โ he said bitterly, taking a long pull on a beer. โGreat. What do you want?โ
The coldness of his tone took me aback, but I kept my face still. โYou havenโt been to the hospital.โ
His bloodshot eyes dragged up to mine. โWhy would I? Heโs not there.
Heโs fucking gone.โ I stared at him.
He shook his head and looked away from me. โSo what do you want? You wanted to see if Iโm okay? Iโm not fucking okay. My best friend is brain-dead. The woman I love wonโt even fucking speak to me.โ
He picked up a beer cap from the coffee table and threw it hard across the room. My OCD winced.
โIโm doing this for you,โ I whispered.
โWell,ย donโt,โ he snapped. โNone of this is for me. Not any of it. I need you, and you abandoned me. Just go. Get out.โ
I wanted to climb into his lap. Tell him how much I missed him and that I wouldnโt leave him again. I wanted to make love to him and never be away from him ever again in my lifeโand clean his fucking apartment.
But instead, I just stood there. โNo. Iโm not leaving. We need to talk about whatโs happening at the hospital.โ
He glared up at me. โThereโs only one thing I want to talk about. I want to talk about how you and I can be in love with each other and you wonโt be with me. Or how you can stand not seeing me or speaking to me for weeks. Thatโs what I want to talk about, Kristen.โ
My chin quivered. I turned and went to the kitchen and grabbed a trash bag from under the sink. I started tossing take-out containers and beer bottles.
I spoke over my shoulder. โGet up. Go take a shower. Shave. Or donโt if thatโs the look youโre going for. But I need you to get your shit together.โ
My hands were shaking. I wasnโt feeling well. Iโd been light-headed and slightly overheated since I went to Joshโs fire station looking for him. But I focused on my task, shoving trash into my bag. โIf Brandon is going to be able to donate his organs, he needs to come off life support within the next few days. His parents wonโt do it, and Sloan doesnโt get a say. You need to
go talk to them.โ
Hands came up under my elbows, and his touch radiated through me. โKristen, stop.โ
I spun on him. โFuck you, Josh! You need help, and I need to help you!โ
And then as fast as the anger surged, the sorrow took over. The chains on my mood swing snapped, and feelings broke through my walls like water breaching a crevice in a dam. I began to cry. I didnโt know what was wrong with me. The strength that drove me through my days just wasnโt available to me when it came to Josh.
I dropped the trash bag at his feet and put my hands over my face and sobbed. He wrapped his arms around me, and I completely lost it.
โI canโt stop cleaning and I have a monster inside my brain and I miss you and Sloan is falling apart and his parents wonโt take him off life support, so his organs are rotting. I canโt get all the lines right on the carpet with the vacuum and Stuntman is in a kennel and I havenโt seen him in days, and I just need you to let me clean this fucking apartment!โ
Iโm not sure how much of it he heard, if any. I was crying so hard I could barely understand myself. He just held me and caressed my hair, and for the first time in weeks the velociraptor hunted other prey.
Josh made me weak. Or strong. It was hard to tell anymore what I was without my coping mechanism. At least when I rode the beast, I got shit done. And now I was nothing but an emotional mess.
But at least the mess was mine.
Why did he have this effect on me? He had this way of waking up dormant parts of my soul. He ripped through me and let everything in with him like a storm surge.
I took on water.
And at the same time, something told me if I let him, heโd keep me afloat. He wouldnโt let me sink. Iโd never felt this vulnerable and safe with anyone.
I felt hot and shaky. I gasped and clutched his shirt until the crying spasms stopped. He held me so tight my knees could have given out and I wouldnโt have fallen an inch.
โI canโt be the only one who has their shit together,โ I whispered.
His chest rumbled as he spoke. โIt doesnโtย lookย like you have your shit togetherโฆโ
I snorted. โJosh, please.โ I looked up at him, my hands trembling on his collarbone. โI need you to insert yourself here. Go talk to his parents. Theyโll listen to you.โ
He looked at me like seeing me cry was agony. The longing on his face was razor blades to my heart. His sad eyes, the set of his mouth, his knit brows.
He loved me almost as much as I loved him, and I knew I was hurting him. I knew he thought I was enough. But Iย wasnโtย enough. How could one of me be any kind of substitute for the half dozen kids heโd always wanted? It just couldnโt. The math didnโt work. The logic wasnโt sound.
He wiped a tear off my cheek with his thumb. โOkay,โ he whispered. โIโll go. Just, sit down or something. Stop cleaning.โ He dipped his head to catch my eyes. โAre you okay? Youโre shaking.โ
He put a hand over mine to still the tremor against his chest, and the closeness of him made me whole for the first time in weeks.
โIโm fine,โ I said, swallowing. โJust hurry, okay?โ
He looked at me for a long moment, like he was trying to memorize my face or steal an extra second to hold me. Then he turned for the bathroom.
When he walked away from me, the absence of his body pressed into mine felt like Iโd lost my clothes and I stood naked and exposed to the elements.
I missed him. No amount of time lessened it. It made it worse. My heart was a neglected building, and every day I weathered a fierce storm that dripped through my roof, flooded my floors, and broke my windows, and the disrepair just made me weaker and closer to collapse.
The water turned on in the bathroom and I looked around the apartment, my compulsion raging back with a fury now that he was gone.
At least I could do this for him. I could take care of his space, give it order. Wash his clothes and his blankets. Make things smell clean, turn his home into someplace he wanted to be. Do this thing that he obviously couldnโt do for himself at the moment.
I blitzed the place. I stripped the bed, threw open the windows. I was washing dishes when the dizziness started.
Why are my lips tingling?
I pressed a shaking finger to my mouth. And then my vision began to blurโฆ